


Unexpected Couplings

by CMMLovr



Series: Newsroom Fanfic Challenge 2015 [7]
Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, July - Freeform, Newsroom Fanfic Challenge 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 09:21:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4871446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CMMLovr/pseuds/CMMLovr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My response to July's Newsroom Fanfic Challenge prompt: anything involving non-canon pairings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sloan & Neal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lilacmermaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilacmermaid/gifts).



It had started after he’d asked her if he could post a story so horrendous, so salacious, that he would be accepted into the fraternity of the pitiful without question. That had been almost a year ago. An interesting way to begin an attraction, if there ever was one. Still, her approval of his audacious request had gained him acceptance into the exclusive  society of trolls, and with her continued – er, _support_ – of his projects and pitches, he’d become more confident in his abilities as a new-media reporter working to benefit an old-media company. Sloan had been his good luck charm. Then, she’d become something more.

It was unusual for him to feel anything other than the stirrings of lust (or hunger) in the depths of his belly, but for the life of him, he couldn’t identify exactly what it was that he felt stirring within him with each glimpse of Sloan. Not for the first time that day, Neal’s head snaps up at the sound of Sloan’s ridiculously high heels rhythmically punctuating the habitual hubbub and reverberating around the Newsroom audibly despite the usual flurry of activity. He attempts nonchalance at the realisation that it’s Sloan, hoping that his reaction to her sauntering into the Newsroom looks the same as everyone else’s. Shoving his eyes back down to his work, his fingers find the keys on his laptop effortlessly, skimming across the keyboard easily as he finds his attention diverted once more by the wafting scent of Sloan’s perfume surrounding him. Sighing with frustration, Neal attempts to direct his attention back to his work, but finds that his efforts are futile as his thoughts stubbornly refuse to leave Sloan, and her many endearing characteristics. The mere indulgence of the thought sends Neal’s heart leaping into his throat.

“What’s the matter, Sampat? You look distracted,” mutters Sloan from behind Neal, startling him as he chastises himself internally for allowing his attention to wander so far. Meanwhile, Sloan looks pleased as ever, smirking with mirth at the thought that she’d spooked Sampat so easily.

“Ah, nothing, Sloan,” he practically squeaks.

Smiling wolfishly, Sloan leans closer to Neal, apparently enjoying his discomfort. “Really? Didn’t look like nothing,” she breathes, her warm exhalation tickling the hairs on his neck.

“I was checking in on our trolling –“

“Your,” she interrupts firmly. “It was your idea, and I don’t want to be involved if any other creeps turn up,” she explains airily.

“Fine, _my_ trolling experiment. Beyond finding the username for the guy who threatened Will, I’ve not really made much progress. It seems like I need a bigger name to get me into the big leagues.”

Poking a harsh finger into his back, Sloan splutters before laughing, “are you saying that I’m a _minor_ personality?!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” gulps Neal, remembering the last time he’d inadvertently offended her and ended up pinned against a wall. The memory is both frightening and, if he’s honest, somewhat arousing.

“Good,” she laughs, “you’re learning, Sampat.”

He forces a chuckle, his stomach flipping as Sloan’s hand finds his shoulder, casually resting there with little to no thought.

“What else is on your mind, Sampat? You seem jumpy.” She chuckles.

“I-uh- distracted, y’know? I didn’t think that joining the league of the pitiful would be quite so difficult,” he admits, surprised by his own candour and relieved by the fact that Sloan nods understandingly rather than prying further.

Leaning her head closer to his, Neal feels the whisper of her breath against his cheek before he hears her murmured encouragement, “if there’s anyone who’ll do it, it’s you, Sampat.”

Mouth rapidly drying, Neal licks his lips nervously, his insides fluttering uncontrollably. He is unaccustomed to the unsettling feeling that had, at first, rippled through his consciousness, but that has now taken up permanent residence in the pit of his stomach. Despite logically knowing what it is, Neal is hesitant to fix a name to it, sure that the moment he does, it will become more real; less avoidable. With slight irritation, he swipes the few small strands that rest on his forehead with the back of his hand, startling Sloan away from the position that she’d adopted beside him. Though reluctant to admit it, Neal’s resolve is strengthened by Sloan’s positive affirmation, and his shoulder feels cold in the absence of her hand.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, unable to drive the feel of her warm palm on his shoulder away from his mind.

“Take it easy, Neal,” she replies sincerely.

 For the first time, Neal feels as though he has been allowed a glimpse of the genuine Sloan Sabbith, not the sauntering Economist with a witty barb for every rejoinder flung her way. Warmed by this notion, Neal smiles in response to Sloan’s words, pleasantly surprised by the heat that seems to pulsate through his chest at the thought of gaining her approval.

 _‘Oh fuck,’_ he thinks, _‘it_ is _love_.


	2. Don & Mac

“So,” he begins throatily, “how many things did you have to break, to figure out God’s law?” Throwing back the rest of his drink, Don doesn’t see the look of mild annoyance that flashes across Mac’s features.

“Just the one, but I’d rather not talk about him tonight, if it’s all the same.” She mimics his movement before motioning to the bartender to bring them two shots.

“Yeah? What’s changed?”

It might be the music, or the lack of decent lighting that prevents her from reading his expression accurately, but Mac could swear that she’d heard a note of pleasure ring in his question.

“I’ve decided to move on,” she declares simply, knocking back another shot as it’s placed in front of her. She does this purely to have something to do with her hands (other than what she’d _like_ to be doing with them, that is).

Slurping back his shot, Don takes a moment before replying, “that so?” as nonchalantly as he can manage, trying desperately to feign an air of only mild interest (and failing spectacularly). The fact is, this is the best news that he’s heard all day; and he works in a newsroom.

“Is it just me, or is that the sound of pleasure I hear in your tone?” asks Mac snarkily, a tilted grin quirking her lips.

“Trick of the light,” quips Don lightly, smirking as Mac playfully shoves his shoulder before knocking back another shot.

“So…tell me,” she murmurs against his ear sometime later, her breath causing the short curls of hair on his temple to flutter warmly.

“Tell you what?” he swallows tremulously.

“Does the idea of my being free of Will’s shadow make you happy?” she whispers warmly, her wet breath hitting his ear in such a way as to make him shudder. The smell of tequila lingers heavily in the air, but it is overpowered by a scent that Don recognises as uniquely Mac’s. The thought of it gives him a thrill as his insides pool low in his belly with a mere whiff of it.

“I-uh,” he clears his throat, unsure of how to respond.

Truthfully? He’s elated by the idea that he might finally be able to progress his relationship with Mac into something more.

Mac’s face falls slightly, “It’s okay if you don’t – I mean, I probably misread your interest. Happens a lot,” she smiles sadly, “I should go,” she adds hastily, “I’m gonna go-”

“Wait,” interrupts Don, his face deathly serious. There are few things in the world he is certain of, but one of them is that he has loved Mac for too long to lose this opportunity. “You never waited for my response,” he murmurs, leaning in to Mac’s ear.

“So?” she replies nervously, her voice trembling.

“So, I’d like to do this properly, Mac. A date, not shots at Hang Chew’s and then back to your place for a quickie that neither of us will remember come morning. A date,” he repeats, looking her in the eye meaningfully.

“What do you propose, Don?” she asks, a grin lighting her features as she giggles semi-deliriously (and more than semi-drunkenly).

Her smile seems to light his insides, happiness surging from his core to his extremities as he realises for the first time that his attention is not unrequited.

“I’m saying, let’s split a cab, go to our respective homes, and meet tomorrow at noon for brunch. We can figure things out, if you want to. Or, we can enjoy a date and see where it takes us,” he smiles, brushing a stray hair away from Mac’s face as an excuse to settle one pad of his thumb on her cheekbone.

Leaning her face into his palm lightly, Mac laughs sweetly, nodding her assent.

“Brunch at noon, then,” she chuckles, the corners of her eyes crinkling in that adorable way that he loves.

“Meet me at my place – we can walk from there,” pausing, he laughs lightly before adding, “unless you’re not still too drunk…” he places a hand softly on her lower back, steering her away from the bar as he settles their tab.

Her hand finds his shoulder and she shoves him playfully once more.

“I can handle my alcohol -and hangovers – just fine, thanks.”

“Great, so let’s get out of here before the bar fills up with junior staffers,” he replies, guiding Mac towards the door as he revels in the feel of her warm skin beneath his hand.


	3. Will & Rebecca

_“Well, would one of you fuck Miss Halliday, please?”_

As soon as that line left his lips, she knew she was in trouble. Clichéd, true, but she couldn’t help herself. The fact is, though he was her most difficult client, the moment those words were spoken, Rebecca couldn’t shake the image of Will McAvoy fucking her. Of course, he’d expressed a request that someone else do it, and once she allowed her lips to twitch in recognition of his facetious comment, she knew that she’d unwittingly satisfied him.

_“That was – a little – funny.”_

Her expression was stony, but Will could sense a delicious sense of humour bubbling beneath her cool, professional exterior. Something about her manner made him curious – made him want to push, to prod – made him want to test her boundaries with him. It was just a twitch of the lips and a follow-up comment – that was all he needed to know that there was more to her that he wanted to know about.

The memory is delectable, though it shouldn’t be. After all, his meeting with her had been about ACN’s crise-du-jour; Genoa. That said he can’t help enjoying the memory, recalling the way her eyes, trained squarely and professionally on him, had shown the slightest glimmer of mirth at his attempts to lighten the mood. It is what he thinks about now, as he waits for Mac to finish up her discussion with Rebecca, Maggie’s combat-boot clad feet resting inches from his own. In reality, he’s not entirely sure why he’s sitting on the floor, waiting patiently for Miss Halliday to exit the room. But then he remembers the way her lips had twitched, and his resolve strengthens: he just wants to speak to her off the record. He hears chairs being dragged in the conference room, and observes the way Maggie springs to her feet to greet Mac as she exits. She’s a good kid, and Will is glad that Mac has someone on her side. Slowly, the doorknob turns and Mac strides out, looking as good as always (if slightly wearier).  Maggie moves immediately to Mac’s side, embracing her tightly and wordlessly. Nodding slowly, Mac pulls away and smiles at Maggie, leading her away and to the elevators without so much as a glance at Will; she has someone else to think about now, and is content to wait until she can see him.

Inside the conference room, Rebecca tiredly dismisses her colleagues, waving away their offers for help with the instruction that they get home and back to their own lives. Mac was the last of her interviews, and she’s thankful that she, at least, was easier than Mr. McAvoy.  Tiredly sweeping her hair away from her face, she tucks a few strands behind her ear before sliding her papers into a neat pile. She doesn’t notice Will sidling in, and continues to pack away.

“Anything I can do to help?” he asks quietly, startling her.

Still, she is unruffled as she turns to meet his eye, “Think I’ve got it covered, thanks.”

“C’mon, let me give you a hand. I’m not asking you to dinner – though I might, depending on how this goes,” he smiles good-naturedly, gently clearing her remaining papers into a pile and handing them to her without fanfare.

Again, the merest twitch of her lips, but an otherwise unperturbed expression flits across her face, “Charming though that offer is…”

“A drink, then?” he smiles, observing her expression.

A sardonic smile paints her features, and she chuckles softly under her breath.

“A drink, Mr. McAvoy. That’s all.”

Grinning triumphantly, Will continues to help Ms. Halliday with her belongings, guiding her by her lower back as they leave the conference room together. Holding the door open for her, Will smiles gently as she struts past him confidently, her perma-smirk on her lips.

“Where do you plan on taking me, McAvoy?”

Her smirk is delicious – tantalising, even, and for the briefest of moments, Will loses his faculties. Rebecca smiles absently, waiting for the response to a question he’s already forgotten.

“Hm?” he murmurs, his attention drawn once more to the mirth dancing in the depths of her eyes.

“Where are you taking me? Not some Godawful hovel, I hope?”

“Only the best for you, Ms. Halliday,” laughs Will, a sarcastic grin stretching his lips.

Grimacing slightly, Rebecca motions for Will to lead the way as they reach the street outside the ACN building. They walk comfortably in silence, and Rebecca realises that Will is infinitely better when he’s silent; without the distraction of his verbose rants, she has the opportunity to admire his near-boyish features. The thought of him with stubble makes her snort, and she wonders idly if Will has ever considered growing out his facial hair.

Glancing at Rebecca, Will wonders what she’s found so funny. He hasn’t said anything, so it’s probably not him. That does bring him to another, more pressing concern; he can’t find anything to talk about. And maybe that’s part of the allure for him, now that he comes to think about it. He doesn’t have to talk or be open, he can be silent and the air between them won’t become awkward or uncomfortable.

They arrive outside Hang Chew’s sometime later, and Will knows that this might not have been his best idea. Then again, he also doesn’t know anywhere that’s open at this time of night and isn’t ridiculously pretentious.

“Ah, the famous ‘Hang Chew’s’,” grumbles Rebecca good-naturedly.

“Famous?” asks Will, preoccupied.

“A lot of the junior staffers mentioned it in their depositions, but I didn’t think that Mr. McAvoy, the star Anchor of ACN would frequent such a place,” she teases, grinning airily at Will’s originally uncomfortable expression.

“Hey, I’ll have you know that I am a great lover of karaoke,” laughs Will, placing his hand on the small of Rebecca’s back and revelling in the thrill of it. He guides her gently to the bar, laughing when she turns to tease him about his unabashed (and sarcastic) confession.

He has no idea how this will pan out, but he’s hoping that it will go well enough that she’ll consider dinner with him, at least.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and if you liked it please leave a comment!   
> As a side note, I'd like to apologise for my tardiness - I'm working on August & September, but this summer has been absolutely manic.  
> Thanks, as always, to LilacMermaid for her inspiring prompts :)


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